Tis The Season
by Your Angel of Music
Summary: ...for Christian and Syed to run the full gamut of emotions as they celebrate Christmas with the Clarkes. The (rather late) trials and tribulations of a Chryed Christmas.


**Title:** Tis The Season...  
**Author:** MercuryPheonix (Your Angel of Music)  
**Rating:** M (because yes, they will be having Christmas sex eventually)  
**Spoilers:** Entirety of the storyline.  
**Summary:** Tis the season for Christian and Syed to run the full gamut of emotions as they celebrate Christmas with the Clarkes.

**A/N:** I know it's a little late, but there has been stuff happening in my life, so this has taken longer than I thought. It was originally going to be one long fic, but I felt it couldn't wait any longer, so it will be split into chapters (probably between 4-6). Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

(This is part of the Never Ending Story 'Verse)

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**Tis The Season...To Have To Make Do With Skype**

Christmas Day started with the blaring of the alarm, dragging them from their sleep in a flurry of protesting groans and half muffled attempts at burying themselves into the pillows (or each other – at this time in the morning, they really struggled to tell the difference). The room was bathed in darkness, the air heavy in the way that can only be felt at the crack of 'why-am-I-awake?'; chasing them back under the covers with each half-hearted attempt to extricate themselves from the tangle of limbs and bedclothes.

It wasn't long, however, before consciousness began to catch up with them, bringing with it the realisation of why they were being pulled out of bed at that hour. With a quick glance at one another, they kicked back the sheets with renewed vigour, a new-found urgency pulsing through every movement as they hauled themselves into the waking world. The lethal combination of drowsiness and speed almost led to disaster as Christian attempted to put on Syed's favourite top - but, luckily, realisation set in with one arm in, one arm out, and it was snatched from him moments from disaster (starting the day by tearing his husband's favourite piece of clothing would not have boded well for the remainder of their Christmas experience).

It wasn't long before they were both dressed (or as dressed as they could bear to be at this hour) and settled in front of the laptop, waiting with groggy excitement and an irrational nervousness that neither of them could quite place.

They didn't have to wait long. As promised (and arranged and rearranged and organised to the most excruciating detail) Amira put the video call through at half past ten (her time). She spoke – Christian could tell, because her mouth was moving – but, in that instant, he knew that the only thing filling their minds was the child balanced precariously on her lap, squirming determinedly with the newest of her many toys clutched in her pudgy fist. The little girl's attempts to escape her mother's hold (no doubt to ascend the mountain of her present haul) stilled suddenly when her gaze was directed to the screen – her eyes fixing on the slightly pixelated image, thought of her new dolls house forgotten in the face of the familiar faces grinning back at her.

And at that moment, Christian couldn't think of any better Christmas present than hearing the word 'Daddy' fall from her lips – apart from maybe hearing it with Syed sitting next to him, knowing just from the posture of his body and the slight movement of his frame that he was having exactly the same reaction. That was pretty much the definition of all that he wanted in that split second.

It didn't take much time before she was nattering away, running out of shot every few minutes and returning with a new toy grasped triumphantly above her head. Christian quickly felt the tiredness leave him, melted away by the warmth of her energy, and the massive grin that split her face at seeing them both.

There was only one thing that had scared Christian more than losing Yasmin; the thought that she would forget him, forget _them_, forget that little family that they'd created and destroyed in a few short precious months. Nothing hurt more than the thought of them both being consigned to insignificant figures in her memory. And the sight of her now - as if she was in the same room as them, as if not a second had passed since they put her in the taxi and said a painful goodbye - it chased away a little bit of that pain. He could feel a relaxing in Syed's shoulders as he said something that made Yasmin giggle, the release of tension within him, and he knew that he wasn't the only one feeling renewed and revived by the simple interaction.

And the fact that, despite the barrage of new toys she was determined to demonstrate to her daddies, Moosey remained clutched under her arm for the entirety of the conversation - that was something that earned a glance between them, a smile, tiny but strong, tugging at the corner of Syed's mouth.

But it couldn't last.

And if that first precious moment had been the best present they could imagine, the final moment was like waking up from a dream to find a stocking full of coal.

Yasmin protested as her mum knelt down beside her, telling her it was time to say goodbye – her bottom lip quivered slightly, a fat tear (the precursor to a massive tantrum – one that, as horrible as it sounded, Christian was a tiny bit pleased he wasn't going to have to deal with) squeezing out from under her eyelashes and rolling slowly down her cheek. Christian could feel Syed tensing beside him, his fist clenching up where it brushed his leg. His own heart ached, but he kept his face straight, swallowing back whatever was inside him and speaking comfortingly but firmly – telling her that they loved her, they really did, but that they had to go, and they'd speak to her very soon, and anyway, in the meantime she had a lot of new toys to play with, and she could tell them all about it that the next time they spoke, and not to forget that they loved her very much.

After she'd gone, surging forward and kissing the screen messily before the call was disconnected – well, they just sat there. The rest of the house wasn't going to be up for a little while yet, and they had nothing much to do, except sit together and come down from the energy of seeing their daughter. And it was one hell of a come down. Christian felt tears trying to sneak their way out, his chest constricting slightly with the force of controlling the sob that threatened to break through.

He could almost forget how much he missed her, most of the time; storing it somewhere deep in the back of his mind. And then they'd speak to her, fleetingly, and it was like saying goodbye all over again.

Especially on Christmas Day. They'd talked about this Christmas – the first Christmas with both of them in her life – and yet this would be all they had; a few too-short moments, separated by a computer screen and about a million miles of ocean (or so it seemed, for all the actual distance didn't matter because, whatever, it was _too far_).

He glanced over at Syed – who was being quiet, far too quiet – and watched silently for a few moments. Syed's face was set in place, his jaw squared, his eyes wide and forlorn and swimming in the kind of self-loathing that simultaneously seemed to make him look pathetic and, somehow, attractive in a bruised and broken and so-sad-let-me-fix-you kind of screwed up way.

Christian reached out instinctively, brushing a stray curl of hair back behind Syed's ear (after all, Syed hadn't been wrong when he said that Christian liked being a hero – he wanted to fix what was wrong, he always did, and he didn't necessarily think that was a bad thing). Syed's gaze dropped as Christian's fingers trailed down, lightly brushing the side of his throat, across the ridge of his jaw, before his hand fell to rest gently on his collarbone. Syed always responded to light touches. You couldn't break through his shell with force – you had to kill it with kindness.

"I'm sorry," Syed spoke quietly, a tiny little voice breaking through the silence. Christian frowned, his thumb drawing tiny circles on Syed's shoulder blade.

"What for?"

"I thought this would be different," Syed turned to look at him, his eyes doing that sad little searching-flicking movement that he always did when he was trying to read Christian's reaction before he actually reacted. "This year. That's what we said, right? That, after – everything – last Christmas – that this one would be better. That we'd have Yasmin, and we'd be a proper family, and everything would be okay. I thought it was going to be perfect."

Christian reached up again, brushing his knuckles across Syed's cheek.

"Nothing's ever perfect, Sy. Not with us, anyway."

"I know. I just wanted it to be a bit more perfect. With you, and me, and Yasmin, and I just – I ruined it, _again_, it's like I can't touch anything without it breaking, I just can't - "

Syed looked like he was going to cry. And Christian wasn't someone who could do anything else, when faced with a crying Syed, than pull him against his chest with a 'hey' and a 'come here' whispered against his hair. Not that there wasn't a grain of truth in what he'd said. But it was a grain rather than the whole, and a grain wasn't worth this. They were worth more than a grain.

"We've still got you and me. We're two thirds of the way there," he rubbed circles into Syed's back, rubbing his cheek against the tangle of hair as Syed burrowed his face in his neck. "Which is thirty percent better than what we had last year."

There was a breath of laughter on his neck, choked back as if it was mingled with a sob.

"Next year we'll go for a full house, yeah?"

Syed wrapped himself around him, burrowing close, stubble scratching Christian's throat as he nodded. It was clear to Christian that he wasn't planning on extricating himself any time soon. No matter. They still had time before they had to drag themselves downstairs and play happy families with Christian's parents; so Christian manoeuvred them gently, shimmying down the bed until they were propped half-upright against the headboard.

Syed snuggled against him, his hair tickling at Christian's face as he tilted his head up to catch his gaze. Something that was almost-but-not-quite conviction shone in his eyes. It was as if he'd made an important decision; one that he thought was good, but, as he didn't quite trust his own judgement, one that was awaiting Christian's approval.

"Today - " he said, a tiny smile stretching his lips. " - is gonna be a good day."

_TBC_

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Thank you for reading! If you're slogging on with this despite it being the middle of January, then many lovely thank yous to you all. More to follow soon!


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